A Series of Snarry
by That-Fresh-Rain-Smell
Summary: A series of snarry oneshots, mostly revolving around bdsm themes, all inspired while writting Invictus.
1. Incentive

A/N: The child inside of me pouts and stomps, as more and more people add Invictus to their favorites and alerts daily, and less and less actually review. I tell myself I should be happy with 103 reviews—especially when at least 70 of them were given in a considerably short time. Yet still I don't feel pressed to write another chapter on Invictus, and since another chapter would take more concentration than I can muster, today, I give you all a random oneshot snarry. It's probably PWP. :3 Please review.

Cozy

**_WARNING_**: Pure, absolute, smut without plot. Rather explicit—not sure if the M rating allows it, but probably.

* * *

Incentive

Harry Potter had, at some point, grown.

Snape sat at his desk as he watched his Advanced Potions class attempt to brew Amortentia—the strongest love potion known. Somehow, most likely with a momentous amount of effort from Grangers tutoring, Potter and Weasley had managed to obtain an O on their OWL's. Snape watched, intrigued, as Potter checked and re-checked his work, going over it with a thoroughness that Snape would not have thought possible.

It wasn't that the boy had gotten _taller_, he mused. No, he was still a runt for his age, at least half a head shorter than his year-mates. But his shoulders had filled out. His muscles were lean and wired, if his school uniform could be believed, and his body was firm, somehow. Solid.

Snape shook himself from his musings, wondering if he had gone mad—to be appraising Potter like that! Abruptly, just as Harry made his way to the cabinet for more ingredients, Snape stood and began stalking about the room, being sure to tear down all his favorite victims—perhaps more bitingly than usual. When he got to Potters table, he looked over the potion and spun, catching the boy as he returned from the cupboard in mid-step, merely three feet away.

"Potter, did you ever _think_ to consider that a potion might require clockwise or counterclockwise stirring for a _reason_?" His voice was low and dangerous, perhaps all too angry, for the type of offence. Snape didn't care. What right did the boy have? Walking around with his fans and fame, rushing ahead into certain danger and only living by the grace of Dumbledore—or Severus' own good timing? Whatever Potter had done to pass his potions OWL's, it was clear now that he had not really improved.

Harry paused mid-step on his way back from the cabinet, listening to Snapes deep, sensuous voice dress him down in a tone more dangerous than Harry had heard in a while. To his horror, he realized he was growing hard at the voice, and his cheeks pinked perceptively.

"S-sorry sir." Was all Harry could say, hoping against hope that his robes hid his erection. Luckily, Snape only glared before turning to Harry's partner, Ron, to address him in nearly the same fashion. Harry stood there, suddenly noticing that, to return to his seat, he would have to walk behind the Potions Master. His desk was closest to the wall; so that the only room between Snape and the hard stone would force Harry to slip sideways behind the man—perhaps even touch him. Harry gulped. If he brushed against Snape…

The man looked up again, glaring at Harry so murderously that the boy gulped once more, and more blood rushed down below his belt line. There was no choice; if he kept standing here, hoping that Snape would move, he would surely get a detention or simply miss the end of the class—losing full marks. Snape looked like he planned to stand there until Harry say down, or perhaps the whole period—he seemed to be dictating to the room, currently.

Harry took a deep breath and began to walk forward, hoping his thin frame would keep him from touching Snape at all. He slanted his body sideways and moved through the gap, unable to stop himself from touching the Potions Master, praying desperately that the man hadn't noticed anything odd.

It was too much to ask, for as Harry sat down, red-faced, the man turned to him with an almost wicked gleam in his eyes—causing Harry to bite his lip, half in embarrassment and half in arousal.

"Detention tonight Potter, for your wanton lack of even marginal intelligence, and disregard for the rules of potion-making." The man snapped before retuning to his desk, ready to collect the potions. Harry was dissecting the comment, curious about the use of the word 'wanton'—it seemed out of place, and the double-use of the same basic insult—disregard for the rules seemed to him to be a restatement of lack of intelligence. But why would Snape call him stupid, for…

He looked around the room, suddenly noticing that there had, of course, been a numerous amount of free—if round-about—pathways back to his desk. Paths that didn't involve briefly pressing his erection against his Professors ass. He hadn't thought of going the long way back to his desk—he had only looked at the most direct course.

Groaning, he ignored Rons concern and slumped forward onto the desk. His embarrassment heightened profusely by his apparent lack of ability to think of more than one option—ever—had his face glowing more red than pink now. He did not look up for the remainder of class, muttering 'fuck it' when a voice—sounding quite like Hermione—reminded him he would lose substantial marks for the day.

Snape smirked as he watched Harry Potters red face disappear in the shelter of his arms, wondering how the boy—who had admittedly been unable to chart a different route back to his seat—had noticed Snapes comment on both his abysmal potion and his rather lack of finesse. He supposed it hadn't been all that difficult—according to Harrys face when he had sat down, the boy had been acutely aware of his most recent blunder.

Weasley was attempting to get Harry to talk to him, looking increasingly worried, when the bell rang. Snape wondered absently how tonights detention would progress as he collected the potions before shooing students from the room.

* * *

Harry tried to compose himself before entering the potions room for detention. He felt the absurd need to justify himself to his professor for his actions, but he struggled to suppress it—knowing any justification would not be welcomed. Finally, he opened the door as calmly as he could and stepped inside. Snape was grading papers at his desk, it looked like, and a stack of dirty cauldrons lined the far wall.

"Late again, Potter. How many detentions would it take to teach you the value of my time?" The question was rhetorical, meant to be sarcastic and cruel, but Harry answered anyway as he crossed over to the cauldrons and got to work without being asked.

"Well, I'm sure you know that cleaning cauldrons is not necessarily a good incentive to be prompt, Professor." He was already on his knees, scrubbing with ferocity at a cauldron that appeared to be caked in black slime.

"What kind of _incentive_ would you need, Potter?" The voice was mocking, low, and amused—leaving no room for Harry to misinterpret what he meant. Harry froze in his scrubbing, lowing his arms before turning around. His eyes were wide in shock, but an agreeable shiver ran down his spine. The need for justification instantly rushed back to the surface.

"Professor—I'm sorry, for—for earlier today, when I—when I walked past you." Snape ignored him, head bent in concentration over his grading.

"I just—uhm…right well, sorry. It was stupid of me." He went back to cleaning, scrubbing with renewed vigor as he called himself several kinds of idiot.

"Whatever you found to be so arousing today, Potter, be sure to avoid it in the future—my advanced class requires the students to think with the part of their anatomy that possesses _brains_." Harry gave something akin to a bark of laughter.

"Kinda hard to avoid," he muttered to himself, instantly regretting it when Snape stood and strode over to stand behind him. He kept cleaning, hoping the man would move away, painfully aware of the heat coming off of his Professor.

"What was that Potter?" Snapes voice was quiet, but sounded even more dangerous for that. The man noticed that Harry was close to trembling, and he wondered if the savior of the wizarding world could really be that scared of his Professor. Harry cleared his throat.

"I said, 'it's kinda hard to avoid.'" Harry said louder, still keeping his back turned.

Snape grabbed Harry by the back of the collar, pulling him upright and pressing himself against Harry's backside.

"And why is that, Potter?" He asked slowly, maliciously.

"Cause you're always insulting me in that _god damn voice!_" Harry yelled, unable to stop himself from pushing back against Snape, nearly groaning at the hardness that pressed into his buttocks. Snape growled at the contact, bending his head and biting Harry's neck before talking quietly in his hear.

"You get hot from my voice, Potter?" Harry managed to gasp out a 'yes' before moaning and pressing back harder, bucking his hips in a sad attempt to disregard the cloth that separated them. Snape moved his hands so that one remained on Harry's chest, keeping the boy pressed against him, and the other moved slowly down, grabbing his hip and squeezing. Harry let out something close to a whimper, and Snape smirked.

"Then I've suppose we've found some…_incentive_," the man growled, moving the hand on Harrys hip down even further, grasping the boys straining erection through the cloth. Harry groaned loudly and pressed into his touch, head turned to the side as his panting grew heavier. "For you to be prompt, Mister Potter, to your detentions."

"Please…" the boy whimpered, unable to finish his sentence as the older man began unbuttoning his trousers.

"Please _what_, Potter?" The hand pushed the boys too-baggy trousers down, and for a moment Harry was left panting before he could get more words out.

"Please, I want—want you…" the words were lost in a moan as Snape began to touch him, and he thrust his hips forward into his professor's hand.

Suddenly the Potions Master took his hands away; spinning Harry around before he could bemoan the loss of contact and grabbing him by the shirtfront, bringing his face a scant inch from the boys.

"I don't think you understand, Potter." the man growled. Harry's breath hitched as he bit his lip, looking up searchingly into the mans dark eyes—his own green ones misty with lust. "What I _take_, I _keep._"

Harry grabbed his professor's face and kissed him. It wasn't a harsh kiss, but nor was it gentle, and when it ended Harry stood on his toes to whisper in the mans ear.

"_Please…_"

That was all the acceptance he needed. Snape smirked and continued to teach Harry Potter not only to be prompt, but to be careful what he begged for.

* * *

A/N: total smut. I've been reading tons of it on Walk the Plank in my spare time—cause I've got time to read some oneshots, but not to write full chapters. This story is absolutely pointless, but it was fun, and I hope you'll review.


	2. Playing With Fire: Part One

A/N: I dedicate this random oneshot to the dedicated readers of Invictus, particularly to Yazzi who helped with inspiration.

WARNING: More pure smut, more explicit than Incentive, S/M and D/s prominent.

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Playing With Fire

Harry Potter was not having a good day. He had woken late, hadn't gotten breakfast, realized he'd forgotten his potions homework in his dorm, ran back to get it, was subsequently late to potions and Snape decided to be sadistic and read his homework aloud to the class. Harry had actually spent several hours on his potions homework, and he thought he had done alright (Hermione hadn't growled once while revising it), but as Snape tore it apart he sank deeper and deeper into his chair, face red with anger.

When Snape had finished tearing him apart, he set to work on his potion, which did not turn out well. Considering the way the day was going, he wasn't surprised. Snape tore him down again, and he was the last to leave the room. Unsurprisingly, Snape had to have the last word, again.

"Potter, why is it you make it so easy to verbally disembowel you? Do you simply not have the mental capacity to deflect simple antagonism?" the man was smirking, damn him!

"I don't know sir, maybe I'm a masochist." Harry snapped, striding towards the door. Even if it _was_ true, it wasn't the reason he was dealing with the other mans insults in silence. He was just too tired of fighting to have the energy for more than silent anger.

"That must make me a sadist, Potter." Even with his back turned, Harry could hear the smirk in the mans tone, and he felt an unwelcome shiver run up his spine. He left the classroom without a word.

* * *

Now, at the end of a very long, very bad day, Harry lay in bed unable to sleep.

_Was Snape really a sadist?_

He hadn't looked at it that way, before. He knew he occasionally enjoyed it when the older man tore him down verbally, he knew he sometimes enjoyed the vibration of power that radiated from Snape in waves, but he had never fully considered the possibility that he was _attracted_ to him. Harry knew he liked men, from an uncomfortable but educational experiment with Charlie Weasley. He knew he was—at the very least—a bit of a masochist, because when he slept with someone he couldn't feel anything unless it was rough, or cruel.

_But Snape?_

Now that Harry seriously considered it, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Snape was tall, well built, with a voice that seemed to cut right through him. He had an immense aura of power, self-discipline…

Harry groaned and rolled onto his side, wondering what the world was coming to. Now that he had considered such a thing, potions the next day was going to be hell—he would no doubt have an erection during class, be humiliated…

The idea of humiliation sparked more fire between his legs, and he mentally kicked himself.

Well, if he was going to go unsatisfied and humiliated in potions class tomorrow, he might as well imagine tonight that he would at least be satisfied. He slipped his hand into his pajama pants and began to stroke.

* * *

The next day, Potions went exactly as he had predicted, uncomfortable erection and all. Luckily no one noticed this time, but Harry sat the entire class out in a strange mix of agony, suspense, and arousal.

After several days of this, Harry decided he couldn't take the growing tension, and decided to settle it. He made his way down to the dungeons, asking portraits along the way in parsletongue for directions to Snapes quarters.

He finally found them, directly off of a long, unused corridor, and found a portrait of a snake barring his path.

"_Look, I just want to knock. Can't I knock?"_ He asked the sake in parsletongue. The snake shook it's large, cobra head.

"_No youngss ssir. Sseveruss sayss none may enterss…"_ Harry growled.

"_Can you tell me the password?"_ He asked, struck by this idea.

"_I will give you a riddle…" _Harry groaned.

"_Fine! Give me the riddle."_

"_What password would Severus Snape choose?" _Harry nearly punched the amused snake, wondering if portraits could feel pain. Just as he was about to call it quits, the door opened.

"Potter! What do you think you're doing at the door of my private quarters?" The man hissed, and Harry gulped.

"I uh, was wondering, if uhm…" Caught off-guard, he had completely forgotten his wonderful, planned speech. Snapes frown deepened.

"Spit it out, Potter!"

"Was-wondering-if-you're-really-a-sadist?" Harry blurted all at once, coloring at his none-too-subtle advance. He thought he could die with embarrassment; all he wanted to do now was quietly slink away, perhaps disappear completely.

"What business is that of yours?" Snapes eyes had narrowed, and Harry was surprised and gratified to find that the door had yet to be closed in his face.

"Er...Well you see, I've got a bit of a problem." Snape opened the door wider and indicated for him to come inside. Harry was distracted from his first sight of the mans quarters by Snapes voice behind him as the man shut the door.

"You wish for me to take care of something for you, Potter?" The mans voice was low and dangerous, and Harry began to tremble as he shut his eyes briefly. Take care of something…yes, that was exactly it.

"Yes." He said quietly, simply. When he opened his eyes he saw that Snape was glaring; he looked furious! What had he done?

"Sadistic or no, I won't simply harm someone that's in your way, _Potter_," the man was definitely enraged, and most certainly had the wrong idea. Harry scrambled to fix it.

"No! It's not like _that!_ Fuck! My _problem_ is that I keep getting erections in your class!" Harrys' eyes widened and he covered his mouth with his hand; he had _not_ meant to say that! A blush crept once again over his cheeks, and he felt the flush of warm skin move down his neck as well. Snape rose and eyebrow.

"Oh?" He began to stalk towards the boy, and Harry very nearly crumbled. He found himself shoved against the nearest wall, and whimpered. "And why is that, Potter?" Snapes hands gripped his hips and pressed Harry against himself. The boy could feel something hard pressing into his hip, and realized his professor was just as hard as he was. Harry groaned and rocked his hips forward.

"You…"his eyes were closed, head thrown back as he tried desperately for more friction. He wasn't coherent enough for a full sentence, but it didn't seem to matter as the other mans hands moved to stroke him through the thin fabric.

"Is this what you want?" Snapes voice was low and silky, and Harry strained his body forward against the hand.

"Yess…" he responded, unaware that the words were in parsletongue. It didn't seem to matter; the hands on him moved, unbuttoning his trousers. When he sprung free of his confinement, when those hands touched his bare skin, he whimpered and arched forward. The fingers seemed to flit from his skin and back again, and Harry made a sound of frustration as he thrust himself towards the contact.

"What a surprise, Harry Potter; wanton and at my command," the man purred before pulling away completely. Harry had to grasp at the wall to keep from falling down in a pile, and he glared weakly at the man who was staring at him with a calculating look in his eyes.

"Follow," Snape turned on his heel and began walking towards an adjacent door. Harry hesitated a moment, defiant, before his aching erection demanded that he follow orders. He detangled himself from his pants and shoes before following at a faster pace. Snape stood to the side of the now-open door, and motioned Harry in. Harry hesitated once again before moving forward, finding himself in a large room with a king-sized bed. Harry looked at the bed and gulped, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Snape leaned against the doorframe, almost casually, and looked him over.

"Choose a word." The man ordered. Harry was about to ask what in the hell he meant when he remembered something he had read in a magazine. He scrambled before coming up with something acceptable.

"Siste," he said, hoping it was okay. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Even with Latin you're rather unimaginative, aren't you?" the words were biting, but only seemed to fuel his arousal, and Harry looked down.

After a long silence, Snape spoke again, "Disrobe." Harry looked up, realizing that Snape wanted to watch him undress—what more there was to undress, anyway. He pulled off his shirt, wondering how strippers managed to make such a move look good; look arousing. When he had gotten it off and tossed it aside, he stood and waited. Snape was eyeing him, up and down, and as the minutes ticked by Harry began to get nervous. He wanted to fidget, but he kept his hands at his sides, guessing that Snape wanted him to remain still.

Finally Snape began to disrobe, himself, and Harry watched with eyes that grew increasingly wider. Why did the man wear so much clothing, with such an amazing figure? Broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, pale, creamy skin…

Harry realized that his professor had finished, but the man did not yet move towards him. Instead he took his own erection in his hand and began to stroke himself lazily, never taking his eyes off of Harry. The image was incredibly arousing, and Harry had to lock his knees to keep them from buckling as he made a sound deep in his throat.

"Please…" he managed to say, unsure of what he wanted but knowing he wanted more than this. Snape stopped what he had been doing and strode forward, pushing Harry back onto the bed and kneeling over him.

"Please what, Potter?" he asked in a low tone, touching Harry's leaking member lightly, slowly. Harry bit his lip and strained upwards, bringing his hands to run down the mans sides until he gripped his hips.

Snape continued to touch him as his other hand grasped Harry by both wrists, holding them above his head. Harry let out a moan as his arms were pinned, and Snape lowered his head to lick his ear.

"Do you want to be bound, Harry?" he hissed, and Harry felt himself tremble.

"Yes!" he gasped, unable to stop himself from rocking his hips forward, into that hand. He felt leather cuffs appear around his wrists, snug and tight, and he pulled against them and shuddered in pleasure at the feel of being restrained, helpless.

"Such a little _whore_," Snape murmured, flipping him over unceremoniously as Harry cried out. A hand began to touch him yet again, and Harry pushed forward, whimpering. The strain, the tension of being so close yet so far from release made tears gather in his eyes as he ground forward, begging.

"Not yet, Potter. You'll come when _I_ say." Harry groaned in frustration as the hand was taken away yet again, only to join the other one as his ass cheeks were spread. Realizing what was to come, he braced his knees and elbows, pushing back into the hands that touched him.

"So eager," his professor drawled, and a mixture of pleasure and shame welled within him as he bit his lip and hung his head.

"_Please!"_ he called, the shame unable to keep him from begging. Two fingers entered him and he shoved himself back, shaking. "Please, you—" he panted, wanting more, wanting it now. The fingers pulled out of him, the hands moving to grasp his hips before his professor thrust into him. The pain and pleasure of the penetration made Harry dizzy.

"Aah!" He gasped as Snape pulled partially out, then thrust back in. He wasn't going to last much longer; with every thrust, the man brushed a bundle of sensitive nerves and Harry came closer and closer to orgasm. Finally, after what seemed like hours but could only have been minutes, Snape gave the command, and he spent himself, shuddering and calling out something unintelligible. Several more thrusts and the other mans seed filled him, both men panting and spent.

Snape pulled out of him slowly, rolling him onto his back once again and putting his mouth next to Harrys' ear.

"Next time, you will _scream_ your safeword," the man promised, and Harry could not repress a shudder of anticipation.

Next time.

* * *

A/N: please review! I hope I didn't cross the line about M for this one. If I did, someone please let me know and I will take it down and put it up on walk the plank.

Edit: I am considering turning this into a succession of linked, but plotless pwp's. If I do, that means there will be a chapter two, three, etc to this story. Please review and tell me what you think :)


	3. Playing With Fire: Part Two

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out; I've been rather busy. Please review.

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Playing With Fire: Part Two

Harry wasn't sure what he thought of himself, anymore. It had been a week since he had gone to his professor for help with his 'problem', and the subsequent night had made Harrys mind spin. Now…now, he didn't know. He'd never known that he could be so…so _willing_. Certainly, he'd grown hard at the thought of Snape, and he had even had the balls to proposition him. But he hadn't realized that his original 'problem' would become a larger, bigger problem.

Before, he had thought about his professor in the dark of his own bed, or inevitably during potions. Now, he couldn't _stop_ thinking about it. About that night, about that man, about all the things he wanted to be done to him, all the wretched ways he yearned to be debauched.

These thoughts made him blush, a welling mix of shame and desire churning in his stomach. He'd never felt such strong _wanting_, he hadn't even known it existed within him. Certainly the events before _that night_ had been long and torturous, but it was _nothing_ compared to now.

Now, every time Snape glanced his way, he felt a stirring of desire as he looked into those dark, unfathomable eyes. Every time the man smirked or spoke, Harry felt a shiver crawl up his spine. When Snape gave him a tongue-lashing, he had to suppress a whimper.

Harry could have dealt with all of this, he was sure. What made the entire situation completely, utterly, unbearably miserable is that Snape _knew_ what he was doing to Harry. Knew, and took pleasure in it. Harry could tell by the way the mans eyes glinted when Harry was attempting to suppress his reactions. The way he smirked knowingly, and looked Harry slowly up and down when there was no one around to notice.

The entire situation was unbearable, and Harry did the only thing he could think of; he went back.

* * *

"Mister Potter. I was wondering how long it would take you to come _crawling_ back." Snape drawled. The words sparked desire in Harry, followed by a wave of indignation and shame. He did the only thing he could do, and glared at the man who had just allowed him entrance to his private quarters.

"That's not fair," Harry said, trying to keep the weakness out of his tone. It _wasn't_ fair, but Harry didn't altogether want fairness.

"Isn't it? Come here." Harry followed the man obediently once again into his bedroom. When he entered, he immediately saw a new addition to the room; leather manacles, chained to the ceiling. A wave of anticipation swept over him and he began to tremble, not daring to turn around and look at Snape. His professor swept up behind him, close but not touching, and put his mouth to Harry's ear.

"You will put them on yourself." Harry wanted to groan as the voice made the curling warmness in his stomach tighten, but he held back.

"I…" he wasn't certain, not at all. His mind screamed at him to turn and run, but his body demanded he chain himself; make himself helpless, vulnerable, open to any and all things the man might do to him. Moving slowly, he walked towards the chains, inspecting the leather to see how it would fasten.

"They will magically close and hold," Snape supplied, and Harry gulped. The only thing that spurred him on, that appeased his mind, was his word. Snape wouldn't have made him choose one, if he planned to disregard it…right?

The promise of _screaming_ that word decided him. He body was already taunt with desire; even if he had wanted to, he could not have walked away. He turned towards Snape and fastened the restraints, waiting with his arms suspended above his head, his feet lifted high enough that he could not stand upon them flat.

While he had been deliberating, his professor had stripped to the waist, and now held a long, razor-sharp knife. The look in his eyes was predatory, and this time Harry did groan, his head rolling back against his up-stretched arm, eyes closing. A hand touched his hip, and something cold and sharp rested lightly against his throat. His eyes snapped open and he gasped, feeling his nipples tighten as he arched forward.

"So willing, so ready, and I haven't even begun," Snapes voice was full of low, dark pleasure as he began to methodically slice off Harrys clothing. He wasn't careful with the knife, and soon the boy was bleeding from several shallow cuts, his breath coming in short pants and he writhed and strained forward, wanting to be touched, _wanting_ to be cut.

He sagged and whimpered when the hands and knife fell away, his clothes reduced to shreds at his feet. He opened his eyes to see Snape regarding him with hooded eyes, erection straining against his trousers.

"Please," Harry only managed to whisper as Snape smirked. The man moved, grasping the hair at the base of Harrys' neck in a strong hand, pulling him forward and attacking his mouth. The kiss was harsh, nothing like he had experienced before, and he groaned into Snapes mouth, allowing a demanding tongue entrance. Fingernails raked over his side and stomach and Harry arched into the touch as his nipples were pinched painfully. When Snape released his mouth, he gasped for air, dizzy from going without.

"Why are you here, Potter." Snape growled, his hands never pausing as they raked over Harrys' body.

"I—because—I want you!" Harry managed to stutter has he leaned into that painful touch.

"You want the pain I give you, the humiliation, the _shame_," the man corrected. Harry threw his head back as one hand _finally_ touched his aching cock—then moved away.

"Both!" He growled defiantly, his growl diffusing into a whimper as the touches and bites grew more painful; drawing blood.

"Then you will do exactly as I say." Snape ordered, and Harry agreed readily.

"Anything! Ah, please, just…" his words trailed off, unable to grasp more coherency than that. He felt himself lifted from the flagstones, felt Snapes prick nudge his entrance, and tightened his thighs around the mans sides.

"You will not come until I say," Snape growled, and Harry nodded, attempting to push himself down on the tip that touched him, but stopped by the iron grip Snape had on his hips.

"Please!" He called, and as he did so the man pushed him down hard, entering Harry with a brutal pain that made the boy scream. As Snape fucking him against the rough wall—back scraped and bleeding—he had to concentrate with all his might not to come. When he felt the other man release inside him, he nearly began to cry; the tension was so great.

"Not yet," the man said viciously as he slipped out of him and set him back on the floor. Harry hated him.

"I've noticed this strange response you seem to have to my voice," Snape said, and Harry blushed with humiliation, recounting all the times during class that he had caught himself growing aroused as the man spoke.

"Vocis Severus in cruore exscribo." That sounded like a spell. Harry's eyes grew wide, looking in vain for the result.

"Yess…" he flinched, surprised, and then whimpered as the word cut into his skin right above his collar-bone. "Every word I speak will cut into you…rather deeply." And as the man spoke, Harry felt the sentence carve itself up his side. He rocked forward, fruitlessly searching for contact with his leaking prick.

Snape watched him as he spoke, watched Harry writhe and whimper and groan, scream and plead and beg, watched him arch forward as he covered the boys body in deep, seeping cuts. Finally he moved on to the last area of skin that had yet to be touched; the boys' upper-thighs, and most importantly, his prick. Harry was gasping for breath as Snape paused, wondering what part of his body had yet to be sliced. Consideration took only a moment, and his eyes shot open, going wide. He mouthed the word 'no', but his voice was hoarse from screaming and no words came out. Snape arched a brow.

"Property." The word cut into the tender place between his thigh and abdomen. "Of", somewhere in his tangle of pubic hair. There was a pause where Harry attempted to find his voice, searched his desire-ridden brain for a word—_the word_—that would stop what was to come.

Snape opened his mouth, and spoke. He watched with a feral pleasure as Potter gripped the chains above his head in both hands, pulling himself up as his body went rigid with pain and pleasure. At the exact moment the boy found the last pieces of his voice to scream his safeword, he came in a resounding rush, causing Potter to twitch violently before eventually going completely limp.

When Harry opened his eyes, the salt of tears stinging his cut cheeks, he saw that Snape was smirking at him.

"I keep my promises."

_Fin_

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A/N: please review! :D


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